


The Likes Of Me Abide

by Sokkas_First_Fangirl



Series: I Lay My Life Before You [8]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: (that would be Roger and Freddie), Alpha Brian, Alpha Roger Taylor (Queen), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta John, Discrimination, Don't copy to another site, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Nude Photos, Objectification, Omega Freddie Mercury, Omega Verse, Pack Dynamics, Panic Attacks, Protective Brian May, Protective Roger Taylor (Queen), Sexual Harassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 09:22:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19082143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sokkas_First_Fangirl/pseuds/Sokkas_First_Fangirl
Summary: In 1973 the members of Queen took part in a nude photoshoot. What their fans don't know is that, originally, the photos were meant to just be of Freddie, not all four of them.And what their fans don't know, is that those photos were intended as a punishment.





	The Likes Of Me Abide

**Author's Note:**

> So...This happened. Sorry not sorry for the lore dump my dudes.
> 
> This was meant to be Freddie's next chapter in the cuddle pile mini-series, but as you can see it quickly spiraled out of control. A LOT of this universe has spiraled out of control, which leads me to ask: how would you guys feel about a mini-series where the Queen boys coach the BoRhap boys and tell them how different things were for them back in the 70s/80s?
> 
> I expected to just be writing "Pushing Through The Darkness" before moving onto the finale, but I have so many ideas for this universe that I can't quite bear leaving unwritten.
> 
> Anyway, TRIGGER WARNING for sexual harassment ahead. Someone take Freddie away from me, I hurt him too much.

**1973, EMI Studios, London, England** **  
** **_“Misguided old mule, with your pigheaded rules, with your narrow-minded cronies who are fools of the first division. Death on two legs! You're tearing me apart. Death on two legs. You never had a heart of your own.” -Death On Two Legs,_ ** **Queen**

 

He should have known something was up as soon as Foster called him in, but he didn’t suspect a thing as he made his way down the halls. As it was, he was grateful he ran into Mick- it allowed him to sweep into Foster’s office with at least a semblance of righteous anger. If he’d gone in totally blind he might have had a panic attack in front of them all.

 

But he did run into Mick, who cheerfully said, “Thanks for agreeing to the photoshoot, Freddie!”

 

Bemused, Freddie paused, glancing at Mick over his shoulder. “What photoshoot, dear?”

 

“Well, you know…” Mick grinned at him, looking a little flustered, a little embarrassed. “The nude one.”

 

And that instantly set off alarm bells in his head. Cautiously, he asked, “Oh, we’re...we’re doing a nude one?”

 

It was like a slap in the face when Mick said, “Well, _you_ are.”

 

Just like that his worst fears were confirmed. _He fucking knew it._ Well, no sale. He liked acting sexy and feeling sexy on stage, and often off stage too, but he’d be damned if he was going to be objectified or turned into some sex toy- let alone without his damn consent!

 

“I didn’t agree to any shoot,” he said firmly. Mick’s smile faltered.

 

“Oh…” The Alpha had the grace to still look embarrassed. “But Foster and Sheffield already agreed to it, they said you did, so…”

 

“So _nothing,_ ” Freddie snapped. Part of him felt bad; it wasn’t Mick’s fault he’d been lied to. But the damn thing was likely Mick’s _idea,_ well-meaning or not, so he retained his right to be pissed off. Mick was nice enough but he had a habit of talking to Freddie like he was a particularly difficult child.

 

Foster and Sheffield on the other hand? Oh, he had a bone to pick with them.

 

He stormed down the hallway, fists clenched, head held high, just short of snarling as he burst into Foster’s office.

 

“A _nude_ photoshoot!?” he yelled. “What, did you think I’d just _go_ with it!? You went behind my fucking back!”

 

He wanted to rant on, to shout at them, to make them realise he wasn’t a _toy,_ but he abruptly stopped as he realised the other _Queen_ boys weren’t there. Foster had told him they were already here, waiting for him, but they weren’t. But Foster was there, sitting behind his desk, wearing the usual look of distaste he had whenever Freddie was near. Reid was sitting in one of the armchairs, looking faintly embarrassed, though whether it was by the general situation or the shouting Freddie couldn’t tell. Paul lounged against the wall, arms folded, clearly without a care in the world.

 

And Norman Sheffield, Foster’s boss, sat in the armchair across from Reid. His face could have been carved from stone.

 

“Pipe down,” he said coldly. “It’s a good idea. It’s good for your image.”

 

“How the hell is this good for my image?” Freddie demanded in a furious hiss. Dimly, part of him thought that Roger would be proud.

 

“It’ll boost sales among Alphas,” Reid piped up and Freddie looked at him with betrayal. “You’re...Well, Freddie, you know you’re considered a bit of a...a symbol…”

 

“A sex symbol,” Foster said bluntly. He looked Freddie over coldly and scoffed. “Though I can’t see _why._ ”

 

“I can,” Sheffield added with a smirk. “It may not be obvious at first, but…” His cold eyes looked Freddie over slowly, from the top of his head, down to his feet and back up again. He gave a languid shrug. “Anyway, _Queen_ needs to boost its sales. This is how to do it.”

 

“You can’t make me.”

 

“I think you’ll find we can, boy,” Foster snapped. A nasty smirk crossed his face. “Maybe this will remind you to respect your betters.”

 

And suddenly, their argument just three days ago came rushing back to him. Foster and Sheffield had spent the whole meeting ignoring Freddie and Deacy or outright speaking over them. When Foster called Deacy a _“stupid little boy”_ Freddie’s temper had snapped. He’s snarled at Foster to mind his mouth, to mind who he was talking to and when Sheffield told him to shut up, to keep his eyes on the floor like a _“good little Omega should”_ Freddie had told him, in no uncertain terms, to fuck off.

 

They were _punishing_ him and the realisation made bile rise in his throat. They thought him a brainless, walking sex toy; stupid and weak. They made it plain they thought he had no place in the music industry. Foster was constantly telling Roger, his supposed Alpha, to _“reign him in.”_

 

To Sheffield, to Foster and to Paul, he was just a...a _thing,_ not a person. Reid wasn’t the perfect ally but he at least corrected himself and apologised when he caught himself talking to Freddie like a wayward child and made an effort to ask for his opinion more and more. But the other three? Sheffield looked so damnably _smug,_ Foster was sneering and Paul was outright _leering_ as if he was already naked.

 

He’d spoken up, he’d fought back and they’d humiliate him to drive their point home. _See? Look how much control we have. Look how powerless you are. Remember your place like a good Omega._ Because to them, Omegas belonged on their backs, legs spread. As far as they were concerned, he realised, they were putting him back in his place. Because here he was, just a lone Omega in a room full of Alphas with no backup...And Mick was an Alpha. Most of his assistants were Alphas. Only two of them were Betas.

 

Freddie wanted to vomit, he wanted to cry, he wanted to scream and thrash Foster’s office. Struggling for calm, he groped for the one thing he was sure would help; “Roger won’t let you,” he said and he hated how his voice shook.

 

“He will,” Sheffield said with that awful smug smirk. “He doesn’t have a say in this. He can throw all the tantrums he wants, but at the end of the day we’re in charge here.”

 

“The shoot’s next week,” Foster added. “Next Friday, two pm. Try to be on time for once.”

 

“It won’t be so bad, Freddie,” Reid said with an attempt at a reassuring smile. “Paul will be there to look after you.”

 

That was exactly what Freddie was afraid of.

 

Tense as a spring, clenching his hands into fists to hide how hard they were shaking, he looked at Paul. He was still lounging against the wall, but his dark blue eyes were _hungry._

 

“Don’t worry, John,” he said, just a little too slowly. “I’ll take good care of him.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 ** _“The judges will decide, the likes of me abide. Spectators of the show, always staying low. The game is on again! A lover or a friend. A big thing or a small, the winner takes it all.” -The Winner Takes It All,_ ** **ABBA**

 

Freddie barely remembered the taxi ride home. He didn’t consider himself a prude by any means, but the thought of being naked in a room full of strange Alphas (plus one he simply didn’t trust) made him feel sick. It made him want to curl up small and hide. He could feel tears stinging his eyes, he already felt horribly humiliated and nothing had even happened yet.

 

And he’d be on his own. He wouldn’t even have his boys there to tell him it would be okay. Roger wouldn’t be there to keep Paul away or snap and glare and snarl. Brian wouldn't be there to reassure him that he could handle this, to rush him out at the first sign of anxiety. Deacy wouldn’t be there to protest the whole way through or cite Omega Rights Acts and generally shame everyone involved.

 

“You okay buddy?” the driver asked suddenly, peering at him in the rearview mirror. “You look sick.”

 

“I...I’ve had a shit day at work, that’s all,” Freddie said, forcing an airy little _haha._ It was the laugh he always used on strange Alphas when they got too close or too handsy. It was the laugh he used when he was quizzed too closely on his family, or his upbringing, or just when he generally wanted to avoid attention. A silly little _Don’t mind me!_ laugh.

 

He hated that laugh.

 

Fuck, it was only three in the afternoon and he already wanted to crawl back into bed.

 

When he got inside the flat he found the other three lounging around, watching the telly and chatting. Without a word, feeling stupidly near tears, he hurried over to the sofa and flung himself at Roger, curling up, pressing his face into Roger’s stomach, arms tight around his waist.

 

“Whoa, Fred, what’s wrong?” Roger asked immediately, one hand stroking his hair back, the other running up and down his back. “What happened?”

 

Finally safe, finally allowed to show how frightened he was, the anxiety attacked him with a vengeance. He was quickly out of breath, gasping and sobbing, shaking like a leaf. Too tired, too fed up to try and control himself; too upset to try and hide it, too utterly fucking _done_ to act like he didn’t care.

 

Besides, he was actually _safe_ here, in his own home, surrounded by his pack. All three of them were trying to hug him at once, trying to soothe him and Freddie felt like an idiot for ever thinking he was safe at EMI.

 

“Fred, what happened?” Brian was kneeling in front of him, cupping hit wet cheek in one hand, looking somewhere between frightened and protective. “What did Foster do now?”

 

And it all came tumbling out in a rush; he was talking so fast he was worried they wouldn’t understand, but he couldn’t seem to slow himself down. Rapidly, still sobbing, he told them everything: about the photoshoot, about how they told Mick he’d agreed, about how it was a punishment for talking back, how Paul would be there, how almost all of Mick’s assistants were Alphas, how he was going to be on his own and he was _scared._

 

“I can’t do it,” he sobbed. They had finally found something he was too scared to do and part of him was terrified of what else they might do; he was terrified that this just might knock the fight from him after all.

 

Oh God, he couldn’t do this, he just _couldn’t._

 

Dimly, past the blood roaring in his ears, past the panic overwhelming him, he heard Roger start to growl. The Alpha’s grip on him tightened so much it hurt.

 

“They can’t do this,” he snarled. “They fucking _can’t!_ Who do they think they are!?” Abruptly, he stood, passing Freddie into Brian’s arms with surprising gentleness. His eyes were blazing, he seemed taller somehow, swelling with anger, red in the face, teeth bared in a snarl- but the hand he ran through Freddie’s hair was careful and gentle. “They can’t do this,” he repeated. “They think I’m your Alpha? Well, I’ll fucking well remind them.”

 

He began to stomp to the door, but Deacy’s horrified little, “They can,” stopped him in his tracks.

 

“What was that?” he demanded.

 

“They can,” Deacy repeated, near tears. He was white as a sheet. “Our contract is _shit,_ ” he said, as if they needed reminding. “They practically own us and...and if we add on that Freddie’s an Omega…”

 

“I have less rights than any of you,” Freddie said dully. Brian held him tighter, swaying them slightly, his chin resting on Freddie’s head. Normally it would be quite soothing, but right now he just felt _heavy_ and defeated.

 

He’d thought he was _safe._

 

There was just a second of quiet before Roger _shouted_ and punched the wall.

 

 _“FUCK!”_ He punched it again and Freddie thought he heard something crack. For once he couldn’t bring himself to run over and calm him down, to tell Roger that he was okay. For once, the lie would be too obvious.

 

“Rog, that isn’t helping anything,” Brian snapped.

 

“And what will?” Roger demanded. “Huh? Go on, Bri, you’re meant to be the _clever_ one! What’ll help?”

 

“...I don’t know,” Brian admitted. He curled over Freddie even further, as if trying to shield him from view. When Freddie peered up at him through his hair, Brian’s face was hard as stone. “I’ll think of something,” he said; their gazes locked, frightened brown and simmering hazel.

 

“I’ll think of something,” he repeated and Freddie wished he could believe him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 **Day of the photoshoot...**  

**_“So my love, keep on running, you gotta get through today, yeah. There my love, keep on running. Gotta keep those tears at bay, oh. Oh, my love, don't stop burning- gonna send them up in flames. In flames.” -Flames,_ ** **Sia and David Guetta**

 

It was an awful morning. Brian and Deacy had once more gone to heckle Foster and Sheffield, Roger had gone ahead to give Mick an earful, insisting he was at _least_ going to make sure Paul wasn’t allowed into the room and that he himself _was_ allowed.

 

And Freddie stayed curled up in bed, his cat in his arms, as he tried to find the strength to get up. Because, he reminded himself, he didn’t have a choice.

 

The closer he got to the site of the photoshoot the sicker he felt. He caught a glimpse of himself in a shop window; he _looked_ sick, all pale and clammy. He wondered if he’d be able to get out of this by faking sick. He couldn’t pretend his heat was on him, there was no scent of it, but maybe they’d at least postpone it if they thought Freddie was ill?

 

Or maybe he was just fooling himself.

 

“Freddie!” Mick beamed at the sight of him. “Glad you could make it,” he added, like Freddie had a say in it. “Sophie’s got you for hair and make-up, okay? Then you can just head into the dressing room.”

 

“ _Un_ dressing room,” he heard an assistant whisper with a snicker. Similar laughs followed and Freddie tried hard to pretend he hadn’t heard them.

 

Sophie was one of the only two Betas on site. The make-up was simple enough he supposed; just some powder to take any shine off, there was only the slightest bit of mascara (“You really don’t need much!”) though the eyeliner was sharply winged and the light touch of lipgloss made his lips look fuller than ever. She straightened his hair to the max so it fell in a glossy sheath just past his shoulders, fluffing it out so it looked even thicker. There was a moment’s pause before she brushed some of his hair back, revealing the mark Roger had left.

 

“Your Alpha fans will like looking at it,” she said brightly. “They’ll like to imagine they put it there, so keep your hair off the mark as much as you can okay?” Without waiting for a response she handed him a silver armband. “There you go,” she added. “That’s for you to wear.”

 

It was pretty, but simple; it was to go around his bicep, a thin band of silver with a slight rippling pattern to it. It hit him like a punch in the gut that _this_ was all he was expected to wear.

 

Fuck. _Fuck. This_ was what he got for standing up for himself and for Deacy? This was considered _okay? This wasn’t fucking fair._

 

And then, suddenly, Paul’s large ice cold hand was on his shoulder. He jerked his head at the dressing room door.

 

“Come on then,” he said and wait, fuck, did he actually just _lick his lips?_

 

Paul, at least, Freddie knew how to handle. He stood as tall as he could, striving for the detached, icy poise his father used on annoying employees.

 

“I know where it is,” he said. He turned on his heel and tried to _stride_ rather than walk; he kept his head held high, summoning his stage persona like a shield because he was _Freddie fucking Mercury, darling._ He was Freddie Mercury and he wasn’t afraid of anything.

 

“He’s shorter than I thought,” he heard one man mutter.

 

“Who cares, did you _see_ his ass?” another hissed with outright _glee._

 

Someone else, a woman from the sounds of it, wolf-whistled.

 

“Fuck, Roger’s a lucky Alpha,” one man said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

 

“Wouldn’t mind helping him out of those clothes, eh?”

 

He could _feel_ himself going red and the snickers started again.

 

“Aw, think he’s feeling shy.”

 

“Oh that’s just an act, all Omegas are sluts.”

 

“You’ve seen him on stage.”

 

“Well we’re about to see more of him.”

 

They finally reached the dressing room door and Paul reached out to open it. Suddenly furious, Freddie slapped his hand away.

 

“You can wait out here,” he snapped. “I don’t need help getting undressed.”

 

“I promised Reid I’d keep an eye on you,” Paul said with a smile, easily brushing past Freddie to open the door. His smile instantly dropped and he snarled, “What the _fuck?_ ”

 

Freddie looked past him- and could have sobbed in relief, even as part of him was overwhelmed in confusion.

 

There, in the dressing room, were his boys. Brian lounged on the sofa reading a book; all he had on was a thin blue robe that was too short for his long legs. Deacy sat by the mirror in a green robe that thankfully seemed to fit. And Roger, always dramatic, always loving to shock, sat on the other end of the sofa in-

 

“Darling, are those _women’s_ underwear?” Freddie blurted out.

 

“Yep,” Roger said with a carefree grin. He was indeed wearing a pair of lacy red underwear. Maybe if he wasn’t so broad and muscled it would have the desired feminine effect, but...well, fair play to him. It still _worked._ Only Roger could pull off buff and women’s underwear at the same time.

 

And Roger’s grin may have been carefree but his eyes were blue balls of fire when they zeroed in on Paul.

 

“Get the fuck away from my boyfriend,” he said, icy-sweet. In three quick strides he reached the door, pulling Freddie flush against him, glaring up at Paul. “Thought I’ve told you a million times to keep your fucking hands _off_ him.”

 

“I wasn’t touching him,” Paul snapped.

 

“No, but you wanted to,” Roger said. He tapped the mark on Freddie’s neck with a pointed glare. “Off you fuck now,” he added and slammed the door in Paul’s face.

 

And for the first time in days Freddie could _breathe_ again. The relief was nearly overwhelming and he clung to Roger, trying to keep himself anchored.

 

“What are you all _doing_ here?” he asked.

 

Brian smiled, putting his book down. “Told you I’d think of something.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I went to Reid,” he said. “Or, me and Deacy did-”

 

“It was your idea,” Deacy cut in with a fond (and proud) grin.

 

“Oh, well...We went to Reid anyway,” Brian continued. “I said photos of you may entice _Alphas_ into buying our music, but what about _Omegas?_ What about our Beta fans? So I suggested we _all_ pose nude and _really_ rake up the sales.”

 

“And Foster and Sheffield were okay with it?” Freddie asked.

 

“Well…” Brian’s smile stretched into an outright _wicked_ grin. “They don’t exactly _know_ yet.”

 

“Brimi, you’re _brilliant!_ ” Freddie cried. He all but flew across the room, throwing himself on top of Brian, hugging him as tight as he could. “Oh, darling, you’re brilliant, I _love_ you!”

 

“I love you too,” Brian said. He wasn’t smiling anymore; he looked completely serious. “That’s why I’m not about to let them hurt you. None of us are.”

 

“You’re not a fucking toy,” Roger added, resting a hand on his back. Deacy knelt in front of Freddie, holding onto his hand. “They wanna objectify you? Well, they’re just gonna have to put up with _all_ of us.”

 

He was more grateful than he could say but he still looked at Deacy, their youngest, the quietest of them all, cautiously.

 

“You’re okay with this, darling?” he asked.

 

Deacy smiled grimly, squeezing his hand. “You’d do the same for me,” he said with utter certainty.

 

And it was true, he would. He’d have done it for any of them- the realisation that they’d do this for _him_ just made him hold on tighter.

 

“I love you all so much,” he mumbled, face pressed against Brian’s shoulder.

 

“We love you too, Fred,” Roger said. With a sudden laugh, he lightly slapped him on the ass. “Now get your kit off and let’s show them how sexy we all are, eh?”

 

“About that…” Freddie looked at him over his shoulder. “What’s with the knickers, dear?”

 

“Sophie’s idea,” Roger said quickly.

 

Deacy coughed something that sounded suspiciously like _“lies.”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 ** _“Sing it for the boys, sing it for the girls; every time that you lose it sing it for the world. Sing it from the heart, sing it till you're nuts. Sing it out for the ones that'll hate your guts. Sing it for the deaf, sing it for the blind. Sing about everyone that you left behind. Sing it for the world, sing it for the world.” -S.I.N.G,_ ** **My Chemical Romance**

 

Freddie wouldn’t lie and say it was fun. It was still it’s own particular kind of awful; there was still hushed whispers, too many lustful and greedy gazes. From the poses they put him in he quickly realised they were going for a weird mix of sexuality and innocence; alluring but vulnerable. The fluffy hair, glossy lips and pout all served to make him look younger than he was, but his dark eyes and the thick eyeliner purred _“come hither.”_

 

It wasn’t his style at all. He hated it. This wasn’t at all like what he did on stage; on stage he was energetic, bouncing everywhere, dancing as the mood took him, swaying his hips and tossing his hair. He was never _passive._

 

 _(And oh he’d make sure the world knew what he thought; once they were free of EMI, once he was well and truly_ safe, _he’d tell interviewers just what he thought of that photoshoot and what led up to it, he’d see them all_ burn. _)_

 

But for now he had to lie on the ground, on a bed of roses, one leg artfully raised to cover what needed covering, with Roger hovering in a possessive pose above him.

 

“This is so fucking stupid,” Roger muttered, looking a little red in the face himself.

 

“I know,” Freddie whispered back.

 

It was a shame, really, he mused. He loved roses. Any other time he actually _might_ have felt sexy laying on a bed of them. But here and now? Not a chance.

 

But God was he grateful his boys were here, distracting him, shielding him as best they could. When one assistant who looked about Deacy’s age came over to adjust Freddie’s stance, a hand too-tight on Freddie’s hip, _Brian_ growled at him. The assistant quickly backed off.

 

And then, thank _fuck,_ Mick was calling an end to it.

 

“That’s a wrap!” he said cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to everything that was wrong. “Great work, boys!”

 

“Good, now let’s get the fuck out of here,” Roger said, though not quite loud enough for Mick or Paul to overhear- they couldn’t afford anyone telling tales.

 

Brian, the utter _darling,_ threw a nearby blanket over Freddie as he helped him to his feet, turning them so he blocked Freddie from Paul’s eyes.

 

“You’re okay?” he asked quietly.

 

“I’m okay,” Freddie reassured him. It was true enough; he was as okay as he could be and much better than he thought he’d be when he first arrived.

 

Roger wrapped an arm around his waist, glaring at everyone present, snarling at a few of the more vocal cat-callers and _Queen_ hurried back to the dressing room.

 

They got dressed quickly and Freddie gladly wiped the make-up off. In a fit of spite he ran his hands back and forth through his hair until it was a tangled mess of waves.

 

“That’s better,” he said with a small smile, turning to link arms with Roger. They had a pretense to keep up- no one could expect an Alpha to be okay with his Omega being seen naked by an entire _room_ of people, let alone a good twenty Alphas.

 

As they reached the door, Roger suddenly pulled away and grabbed the guy who’d held Freddie’s hip by the collar of his shirt.

 

“What’d you call him earlier?” he demanded with narrowed eyes. “A pretty little toy? Did I hear you say you’d pound him?”

 

“Rog,” Deacy said halfheartedly.

 

Roger ignored him.

 

The other Alpha looked terrified. “Hey, l-look,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean- I just-”

 

“I know what you meant,” Roger snapped. “Look at him again, talk about him like that again... _And I’ll ruin your fucking life._ ” He shoved the younger Alpha away, turning to hold Freddie close again. “We’re going home.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

The photos were published a week later. Foster and Sheffield weren’t happy about Roger, Brian and Deacy joining in, but when _Queen_ sales shot up they were unbearably smug about it.

 

“I take it you’ve learned your lesson?” Foster asked with a smarmy smile.

 

Freddie sat in front of him, holding Roger’s hand.

 

“I have,” he said. All part of the act, he lowered his eyes, letting Foster’s triumphant huff of laughter wash over him, brushing it off like it didn’t even matter.

 

Because people like Foster, he’d long ago decided, didn’t matter.

 

And oh, he’d learned his lesson alright; he’d learned just how much he could handle. He’d learned just what his boys, his pack, would go through to keep him safe.

 

Let Foster and Sheffield think they’d won; Freddie would just come back fighting every time.

 

He wasn’t a human doll. He wasn’t their pretty little play thing.

 

Let them think they’d won.

 

He’d make damn sure they regretted it.

**Author's Note:**

> I just got out of the shower and after proof-reading this I feel like I need to jump right back in.
> 
> So, if anyone has anything they really wanna see from the "I Lay My Life Before You" 'verse let me know and so long as it's nothing that I have planned for the finale I'll try and fit it in somewhere!


End file.
